


An Exercise of Love

by Gobayern16



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: But he has a good reason!, Enemies to Lovers, Fives being an annoying gym bro, Podfic Welcome, Star Wars Modern AU, exchange fic, gender neutral reader, little bit of swearing, meeting at a bar, valentines exchange fic, working out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gobayern16/pseuds/Gobayern16
Summary: The loudclangof weights hitting the floor startles you so badly you nearly hit yourself in the face with your dumbbell. You whirl around to glare at the culprit, getting your first good look at the two loudmouths.They’re both incredibly fit, skin tight shirts highlighting well-defined muscles.And incredibly handsome,your mind unhelpfully points out.Or: Your morning gym routine, and your life, gets interrupted by the appearance of a well-intentioned nuisance.No Y/N used.
Relationships: CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: Star Wars Valentine's Exchange 2021





	An Exercise of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @bad-batch-of-fics for the Star Wars Valentine’s Exchange. I hope you like it!
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful CmonCmon for beta-ing!

There’s a bird outside your bedroom window, singing the song of its people as loudly as it can. You blink blearily at the ceiling, mind hazy with sleep. A quick glance at the alarm clock indicates five minutes until it rings, so with a sigh you roll out of bed, shutting the alarm off as you go. 

The bright light of the bathroom does an excellent job of waking you up, and you hum under your breath as you go about your morning routine. 

Dressed in workout clothes, you double check you have your keys, phone, and a towel before leaving your apartment. You take the stairs down to the complex gym, jumping the last four steps in a sudden burst of energy.

You don’t see anyone on the short walk to the entrance, 630am being apparently too early for many of the residents of your complex to be awake. The sun is barely peeking in through the windows, and the snow piled on the sidewalk makes you glad everything is indoors. 

There are a handful of people already there, but not so many that you have to worry about getting adequate time on the various machines.

You’re almost done with your last set of bicep curls when  _ they _ walk in. You pay just enough attention to check which equipment the two men are going to use, just a quick glance in the mirror, as you couldn’t care less about the other patrons, before concentrating on your workout again. 

But then the talking starts. 

It’s easy to tune out at first, focused as you are on counting your reps.

The loud  _ clang _ of weights hitting the floor startles you so badly you nearly hit yourself in the face with your dumbbell. You whirl around to glare at the culprit, getting your first good look at the two loudmouths.

They’re both incredibly fit, skin tight shirts highlighting well-defined muscles.  _ And incredibly handsome, _ your mind unhelpfully points out.

The bald one with the huge facial tattoo smacks the other on the arm with a loud “Watch it, dipshit! If you break it, they’re gonna kick us out!”

His friend just laughs, a warm, vibrant sound that makes you flush. His eyes crinkle, drawing attention to the blocky ‘5’ tattooed on the side of his forehead.  _ Who the hell tattoos their face? _

“It’s fine, Jesse.” He dismisses the other man’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “Now, you gonna try and beat my number? Or you just gonna stand there, complaining and stalling?”

Jesse squawks in outrage, immediately reaching for the discarded weights.

You huff, turning back to your own weights as the bickering picks up volume again. You hurry through your set, all the while mentally cursing the handsome nuisances with their powerful arms and thick thighs for cutting your workout short. It’d be too distracting to finish on the rowing machine like you usually do — the machine is across the room and it’d only give you a better view of their shifting muscles and gorgeous tan skin on display. 

You glance at the stranger with the ‘5’ tattoo one last time as you walk past them to the exit, blushing but staring back in challenge when you accidentally make eye contact. You pick up your pace to the exit, hearing laughter and a smack behind you.

You never notice the third man sitting on a nearby bench, prosthetics gleaming in the light.

🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️

Pushing through the gym doors, you groan at the sounds that greet you. The loudmouth and his equally aggravating friend were here again. This was the sixth time in two weeks! Your coworkers were even starting to ask if something was wrong, since you were coming in grumpy so often, mood soured by an unenjoyable workout.

You make your way over to the mats that are unfortunately right next to them, grabbing a resistance band on the way. Settling into the first of your stretches, you try to ignore the running commentary and aggressive grunting. You would  _ not _ injure yourself because one disgustingly handsome tattooed stranger caused you to cut your stretching short!

You shake out all your limbs, checking for any soreness or tight muscles. Feeling loose and limber, you replace the resistance band and move to the treadmill slightly further away.

_ The only upside to those two clowns,  _ you think as you program the treadmill,  _ is that I’ve become stronger, faster because I try to spend as little time here as possible.  _ Working out at a different time isn’t an option; work is too demanding for you to exercise after you get home in the evenings and you refuse to skip mornings just to avoid them.

So your only option is early morning and dealing with the Terrible Twosome.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, before turning on the treadmill.

As the bickering behind you turns into an argument, you think you might set a personal best just to get away from them. 

🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️🏋🏽♂️

The  _ clack  _ of billiard balls colliding recedes into the background as you lean against the bar counter, patiently waiting for the bartender to finish with their current customer. It’s pretty empty for a Wednesday evening, so you don’t mind watching them as they mix the drinks with quick, efficient movements, placing them on the bar counter with little fanfare. Transaction completed, they wipe their hands on a towel and move towards you.

“What can I get you?”

“Could I please get a Manhattan, a Rum Collins, a Tequila Sunrise, and a Diet Coke?” You pause, trying to remember what else your friends had requested. “Oh, and three shots of your best tequila, please.” The bartender nods, pulling down the requisite glasses for the drinks, starting with the shot glasses.

“That’s gonna be a lot to carry for one person,” a voice interjects from your left. “Need a hand?”

“No thanks, I can—” You turn, breaking off as you get a good look at the stranger next to you. At the blocky ‘5’ tattooed on the side of his forehead. “YOU!” You’d laugh at his look of shock if you weren’t overcome with sudden anger. “Do you know how hard it is to concentrate with the racket you’re always making?”

He gapes, helpless in the face of the outburst a month in the making.

“Mornings are supposed to be calm and peaceful! And your grunting and smack talking ruin it!”

“Is everything alright here?” The bartender’s stern interruption makes you abruptly aware of how you’ve gotten up in the stranger’s face, finger poking his chest. You flush in shame at making a scene, ducking your head and opening your mouth to apologize when the stranger beats you to it.

“We’re fine. I was just leaving actually. I don’t want to cause any trouble.” The reasonable voice cuts you, deepens your shame, and you reach out to catch the stranger’s arm before he can leave.

“Wait! I’m sorry. That was incredibly rude of me.” You lift your head, determined to make eye contact and fully own up to your behavior. “I’ve needed to get that off my chest for a while, but that doesn’t mean you deserved to be ranted at. Can I buy your next drink to make up for it?”

He regards you for several long moments, dark eyes intense before brightening with humor, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. “Sure, why not. Never turn down a free drink, huh?”

His full attention is enough to leave you tongue-tied, and you barely manage a nod.  _ Glad I tried to stay away from him at the gym. I’d have  _ **_definitely_ ** _ hurt myself if he looked at me like this.  _

He stares at you, lifting an eyebrow as he glances down at his arm. You follow his gaze, choking on your breath as you realize you’re still clutching his arm. You hurriedly let go, cheeks heating as you mumble another apology.

“No harm done,” he chuckles, relaxing to slouch against the bar counter. “I’ll have the IPA on tap, please.” 

At his order, you’re reminded the bartender witnessed everything and you cringe, hoping they don’t throw you out for yelling at another patron for no apparent reason. But to your relief they simply move to fill the beer.

“So.” 

You look up at your companion ( _ you should really ask him for his name _ ). “Mind telling me what I’ve done that warranted getting ranted at?” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. It serves to make him even cuter and you have to look away, face burning.

“Well, you see, um…”  _ Just spit it out, can’t embarrass yourself any worse.  _ “We go to the same gym at the same time, and you’re always talking and being loud, and it’s really annoying and distracting.” 

When several seconds tick by with no reply, you look up to find him grimacing.

“Oh, that. Ah,” he pauses, rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I promise I’m not trying to be an asshole and that I have a really good reason for it.” 

_ Really? There’s a good reason for dropping weights and getting into arguments with your gym partner?  _

Your disbelief must be obvious, because he straightens up from his slouch, fire kindling in his eyes. “I draw attention to myself so people ignore my twin. He’s there every morning too, and if you haven’t noticed him, then what I’m doing seems to be working.”

“You mean the guy with the huge, questionable face tattoo?” you interrupt, eyebrow raised. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s just as noticeable as you are.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, Jesse’s my friend. He comes with me so it’s easier. Echo has prosthetics from a really bad car accident that left him a triple amputee. He doesn’t want people to stare at them while he works out, so I act up so people focus on me. ”

_ Shit _ . You laugh awkwardly. “Uh, congrats then. It definitely worked. I only remember ever seeing you and Jesse.” You lapse into silence, not sure how to continue the conversation.

Eventually, the stranger huffs. “Look, let’s start over, okay? Clearly neither of us is good at first impressions.”

_ That’s a massive understatement. _ You snort, ruefully shaking your head. “Sure. Let me take these drinks back to my friends, and then we can find somewhere to talk?” The last part drifts up in a question. 

“Sounds like a plan.” He grins crookedly. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach, inclining your head at him in a short goodbye before turning to grab the now full tray of drinks. You head back to your friends, the weight of his eyes on your back making something inside you shiver in anticipation. You hope your friends didn’t notice how long it took you to come back, but that hope is dashed immediately.

“What was that all about? You got kind of up in that guy’s face. Mirage was about to check on you when the bartender interrupted you guys.” Their palpable concern brings your shame rushing back. You squash it down, reminding yourself that not only had you already apologized, but you were going to reintroduce yourself. 

“Nah, it was just a misunderstanding. I’m actually going to sit down and talk with him.” That sets the wolf among the hens, and you do your best to ignore their questions and  _ suggestions _ as you grab your jacket. 

Diet Coke in hand, you gaze around the bar until you find the stranger. You slide into the booth across from him and smile nervously, butterflies making a reappearance. He smiles back at you, and you sit in silence for a moment, neither of you sure how to restart the conversation. Gathering your courage, you take a deep breath.

“So, I gotta ask.”

He visibly tenses, smile growing a little strained.

“What’s with the tattoo? Does it have some special meaning?”

He relaxes at the question, clearly having expected something else. In fact, if he wasn’t so tan, you would say he was blushing. 

“It has to do with my name.” He coughs. “Well, my nickname.”

“Oh?” Now you’re really intrigued.

“Yeah. I’m the fifth of five kids, fifth with the name Felix, and part of the fifth set of twins to be born in my extended family that year. I heard it a lot, and at some point decided my name was gonna be Fives.”

You raise your eyebrows, amusement coloring your voice. “Really? You decided to name yourself after a number?” 

“In my defense, I was four and Great Uncle Felix spent the whole party counting all the Felixes, and always pointed at me when he said five.” 

You don’t try to stop the laugh bubbling up in your chest, Fives joining in with a rueful chuckle of his own. “Not my finest moment. What about you? Does your name have any “special” meaning?” 

“Not really,” you shrug. “It’s kind of the opposite of yours, actually. My parents had two names in mind for me and went with the one that  _ wasn’t  _ shared with five of their immediate relatives.” 

The ice properly broken between you two, the conversation flows easily. Fives is full of interesting stories, having led a very interesting and action-packed life, and you get lost in his passionate retellings, sucked in by his expressions and gestures. 

You’re so absorbed in your conversation that it’s a shock when the bartender comes over to inform you the bar is closing in half an hour. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Fives winks at you, grinning roguishly. You laugh, shaking your head in amusement at his antics. 

Putting on your jacket, you call a goodbye to the bartender before leaving, Fives gallantly accompanying you to your car. 

“Don’t want anything to happen to you.” He shrugs, suddenly bashful.

Your heart warms at his thoughtfulness. Hours ago, you would have never considered thoughtfulness and Fives in the same sentence, but you knew better now. The regrettably short walk to your car passes in comfortable silence, the beep of unlocking startlingly loud in the late night quiet. 

“So…” 

You turn to Fives, head tilted in a silent question. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, seemingly gathering his courage before making eye contact.

“I had a really good time tonight, and I was wondering if I could get your number so we could meet up again.”

Your smile feels like it splits your face. “I’d love that.” 

Numbers exchanged, you pause, debating with yourself, before thinking  _ fuck it  _ and stepping close to press a kiss to Fives’ cheek.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Fives.” You get into your car, Fives standing stockstill with a dopey smile on his face. He moves out of the way when you start your car, but he’s still grinning the whole time he’s visible in your rearview mirror.

  
  
(Next time turns into a coffee date, turns into lunch, turns into dinner, and pretty soon you’ve been dating for 6 months. He introduces you to Echo and Jesse, and they both question your taste in men. Fives’ feigned outrage (“I am a  _ catch _ , thank you!”) hides his relief at all of you getting along. The gym routine doesn't get any less annoying.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos greatly appreciated. :)
> 
> Thank you to Cry for the title, and Bee for giving me Fives' "real" name.
> 
>  **Permissions:** All my works, including this one, can be translated and podficced without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything else, please ask first. Thanks.


End file.
